BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! A muffled alarm cries its angry song from another room groggily. A smooth dark arm rips itself off the sticky reddish tile and flops against a toilet bowl. Mr. King follows with his daily tirade, "Shut up that damned alarm!" Quickly swinging his arm again, his hand repeatedly slaps the top of the toilet set as if that would magically move his arm over the alarm in the other room.

Panic leads to adrenaline shooting thru his vain. His eyes blasted open, but everything was off readily. A severe migraine began adult him. He was lying on the floor with a toilet mere inches from his face, porcelain fully encompassing his vision. At the same time, his mind was maintaining a perfect three-dimensional map of a ten-foot dome around in prone form, still dressed in a bloody fast food work uniform.

Mind skipping and stuttering at the conflicting signals and an unusual start hoping for a calm moment to take stock of the situation. Denying this possible moment was the vision of Mr. King's feet, irately passing across the floor above him.

Spurring his body to action, Olaudah begins peeling himself off his ruined bathroom floor; Olaudah travels through his apartment like a drunk bull through a china shop. Bumping into every small thing, slipping over socks on more than three occasions. "Don't make me come down there!" Bellows Mr. King.

Alarm in his physical sight, Olaudah's head is living the same abuse he inflicts across his apartment, flipping chairs, staining floors, and busting one him-sized divot in the drywall.

Slapping the ever-loving shit out of the top of his clock. Olaudah burst into tears for the first time in a decade. Somewhere during the twentieth smack of the alarm that might still have kept going even after ripping it from the wall, his brain caught up with the fact the sound is indeed gone, and he is given the blessing of quiet.

Wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and give up the day, Olaudah thought that he didn't need to go to school, he didn't need to go to work, he didn't need to... Wait, go to work! Was he mugged on his way home from work?

His memory after returning home from school was coming up with a complete blank. Lying on the floor, turning his senses away from the world and focusing solely on what happened the day before, time after time, no matter how many tries, the last thing he could remember was inserting his dad's business card back into his wallet.

Slowly consciously, as if any hole in his body wouldn't have reopened already from his crazy escapade, he pats down his body. It looks like the blood came from him, specifically his head; whether that's good or bad depends on what happened last night.

Now for the moment of truth slipping out his wallet, amazingly still in the pocket of his bloodied pants, he investigates if his stuff is still in it. ID, fake ID, Debt card, two gift cards found off the floor, two punch cards to the same ice cream joint, one nearly complete other just started, and his dad's business card. Everything is where it belongs, so he wasn't robbed. Hobbling his way to his door, he checks if he has engaged the locks with a quick jiggle.

Locked, meaning he likely didn't fight off any aggressors on his way home cause the is no way he would have had the presence of mind to bolt the door with the amount of blood he saw caked across the restroom floor. The only thing could have been his stupid ass slipping on his bathroom floor in his non-slip work shoes. What kind of idiot is he? He almost died from cracking his head on the floor to wake up with superpowers for his trouble.

Now was this accident before or after work? Where has life taken him that his greatest worry upon waking up in his bathroom covered in blood with literal brain damage is if he went to work last night?

"Fuck it! No fuck it! Whatever is going on, I don't fucking care anymore! I don't care. I am just going to have that kind of day, aren't I." Venting out his anger finishing his pity part of one.

"Is everything going alright down there!" Shouts, Mr. King. One might be underestimating it; it's a pity party of two, with one being an unwilling member on another floor and whoever else is listening and might rather just lurk.

"Everything is alright, sir. Just had a rough night." Pacifies Olaudah. Standing up, Olaudah prepares his day by peeling away his bloody work uniform, dropping it onto the old uniform he missed tossing into the trash yesterday before warping up the soiled outfit in the old red shirt. "Hopeful the red of the shirt and the smell of greasy masks the blood." Shoving the mess of uniforms into the hanging trash bag, Olaudah precedes on throwing on yesterday's casual wear over his bloody and bruised body.

Finishing his semble is a generous spraying of himself, then his bloody bathroom with his deodorant. Olaudah Grabs a plastic grocery bag from under his kitchen sink; he packs his still-clean nonslips in his messenger bag.

Standing in front of a mirror, dodging the mostly dried puddle of blood, he faces down at the mess on his floor. "I am definitely not getting my deposit back, hahaha."

The man named Olaudah raises his head towards the mirror facing him. He sees into his reflection, even with his eyes closed. They are unnecessary. He can see no. It's better to describe it as a level of omnipresence. Everything is crisp and clear to him from the tiny bugs skittering between the walls, the pockets of air in the bricks of the wall, and the hardened look of Mr kings face staring down sawed off in hand towards his apartment room.

Cracking open his eyes, he began looking in the mirror, knowing what his eyes would tell him but also wanting to know what he was visually dealing with when he had to come up with a lie about what happened last night. His eyes show him dried blood lying over his right cheek and forehead and caked over the back of his left hand, poking from its sleeve. For a few seconds, he had his eyes open in the mirror his headache started to reappear.

Eyes were to remain firmly closed, the plan set. It is a good thing no one else could see himself the way he could right now, red stains covering his whole upper body benight his hoodie and jeans. That's when what was different finally fit hit after investing his blood-soaked body "My scars. They are gone..." Olaudah gasped.

Seeing Mr king begin to move toward his door upstairs, Olaudah knew his time to clean any of the viable parts of himself where just as gone as he was planning to be from his apartment in a second.

Hurrying a quick lap around his apartment, His vision makes an expedient investigation of his place for a pair of tinted glasses a breeze. Sadly, there wasn't a pair anywhere. The best he could find was a crumpled box of bandaids, but wearing them to cover the stains would ruin any potential alibi. Hence, he tosses the idea of hiding the stains with any bandana or hat and gives up on delaying the inevitable and books it for his door before Mr. King decides to make it down the hall and stairs.

Pulling open his door, Olaudah twists his door nob's lock and escapes. In his apartment's hallway, Olaudah felt utterly exposed. He has no idea if anyone else is at either end of the hallway with his eyes closed only, knowing his creaky floors would be the only thing that could give away anyone's presence.

Already breaking his new resolution Olaudah began cracking open one eye again to check the stairs; wrong, everything is just wrong. He hadn't noticed this issue so far, as everything in his vision before was still on his mental map, but now everything looks different.

Things look like someone has filtered his world through a low-resolution disposable camera like those yellow and black Kodaks' found in any supermarket in the early 2000s.

In the seconds he spends investigating the hall, he finds the pain of his migraine built to the point it is now too distracting for him to continue; he worries his vision is worsening. However, looking at the small fire exit sign over his stairwell, he could still read it even at thirty-some-odd feet away, so he knew his vision wasn't any worse. So instead of staying, his vision had gotten worse. It is best to say the world he saw was, for no better word, muted in comparison to his new perception.

As he lies on the wall beside his apartment room beside his door, Olaudah takes a few moments to center himself. "No time need to get away from the King and to get to the bus. Wait the time. Focusing his awareness on his microwave through the wall, he registers the face of the microwave says 5:50, so he still has a few minutes for the bus, likely caused he didn't clean up. However, he still needs to leave before King comes and gets to his stop while suffering a massive migraine whenever he opens his eyes.

Calming down his headache, he accomplishes what he can by inserting the old business card on his door before making his way to the front door of his complex, thinking through his situation.

Firstly if the migraine happens because he sees too much for his brain to handle at once, then unfocusing his new sight and defocusing his eyes should reduce the amount of information he is taking. A second option is that how he thinks of his Power is wrong as it is not his eye he sees with, but his brain is thinking of it as sight; thus, when he is seeing, it messes with his proprioception and gives him his headache. If this is the issue, he needs time to compartmentalize his new vision.

Turning his head, Olaudah cracks an eye towards the stairs. Still not seeing King, he turns back face to face mear inches from the door out of his apartment. Olaudah clears his mind unfocusing on his new vision, which is an ordeal. Every small thing entering in and out of his awareness, grabbing his attention.

Deciding that doing this inside was too dangerous and would be safer outside in sight of a few gang lookouts instead of an angry super with a sawed-off was the better part of valor. After a few minutes outside, Olaudah could muffle his new vision from the clarity of counting every hair of the dead mouse under his stair to just having enough to tell it was only a dead mouse.

Opening his eye, he tries to unfocus and blur his vision like he has cataracts. Olaudah could see a few fuzzy silhouettes that looked like people in his unfocused vision across the street; taking it as a sign of lookouts, he did a quick head swivel for any suspicious car passing the road before crossing. Better cross here and take an extra street to dodge any cops loitering near yesterday's crime scene, asking stupid questions, and becoming suspected of being a snitch.

"Hey brother, what you doing over here? Not looking for no trouble, are yah." One of the three fuzzy outlines calls out to the stumbling Olaudah, who responds, "No, saw 12 on my route back from school. Rather not look like a rat, so taking a different route."

"Fucking fuzz! I heard about those mather fuckers snooping around here yesterday seems a white bitch turned up dead, so they actually showed up to do their job of blaming us. Ain't that right cus," Seemingly, the same silhouette responds.

"No doubt now, if you don't mind. I was jumped on my way home last night; my memory is a bit fussy. Some fuckers came behind me and left before I knew what had happened. All I got to show for it was a headache. Those damned wannabes didn't even take my shit. They are the kind of crazy that likely do it for fun. I would watch out. I might be a bit out of it for the next few days. Can you put a word out that another gang looking to send a message by getting violent in the area or just some rich crackers looking for fun might have been the group that jumped the girl? Definitely either too stupid to realize it would bring in the heat or intentionally looking to tie you guys up."

"Fuck! A second hit. You might be right; so quickly hitting this road, these guys are looking for trouble. Better stay on the down low I'll tell the crew about this. We have also been seeing more attacks on the edge of our turf recently than usual; all of the attacks were fast and hard; I suspect it's a new super ask a lot of them are waking up finding themself tied up waiting for the popo, probably some new speeder that thinks he gods new gift to Detroit."

"Fuck will be on the lookout. See you." Turning back to his route, Olaudah trudged to his stop while fighting back his growing migraine. Somehow he manages to make it to the bus stop while stumbling over his feet and crouching only twice from dizzying levels of vertigo, looking worse than an alcoholic walking home from the club.

Getting onto the bus, he collapses into his usual spot, mirroring yesterday's boarding. This time has him gripping the obnoxiously yellow safety pole, pressing his head against the cool soothing metal with a sigh of relief. So relaxing that he almost missed his first stop if it wasn't for Jason, the bus driver noticing Olaudah's daze.

"Yo hey, kid! This is your stop, right," Jason questioned.

"Huun, what? Shit... ugh shit," Olaudah exclaimed.

His eyes explode open as he realizes where he is and how he is holding up his bus. Throwing himself to his feet, he just as quickly collapses again.

Jason worriedly asks Olaudah, "Wow, are you ok? Is that blood? Do you need me to call an ambulance? No, don't get up. You have a minute before I need to get to my next stop, Don't worry, don't worry."

"No, not; blood repainting my place last night, and my dumbass friend thought it would be funny to play a game with the paint because of the mess. I didn't get much sleep last night. I'll be fine. I need a minute. Don't worry. I'll get off right away and sit down at the stop. I know you have a schedule," Olaudah replies.

"Kid, don't worry about that. Are you ok? Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital? I have never seen you so out of it. You must have had a long night," Jason voices worriedly.

"No, no, no, I don't need to go to the hospital. But yeah, I just had a long night. I'll sleep on the next bus, and everything will be all right. I'll just ask another kid to wake me at our stop," Olaudah replied.

Staggering out of the bus, Olaudah tumbles down the street, testing the limits of his vision to his next stop's benches. Arriving in one piece, He dropped his head into his hands and stopped trying to use his senses as much as possible to reduce his splitting headache.

Lifting his head and dropping the hood of his hoody to cover his face to reduce his conspicuousness, he waits five minutes for the next bus to pull up. One benefit of obtaining this near hangover-level headache is that both guesses of where it comes from are correct.

He doesn't need to focus on his new vision on anything specific to know if anything is in his dome. Everything is always visible in crystal clear clarity as if he was directly looking at it from all angles. However, just like a person's eyes, just cause he can see two math equations simultaneously does not mean they can solve them simultaneously.

So although his Power gives him a perfect omission sphere around him, he is currently limited in using that information. Until he can notice everything subconsciously in his sphere at once or until he can process more than one stream of information at once. This new sense is no better than a personal miniature radar.

What interests Olaudah the most is why he doesn't know this. The media says that all heroes have an intrinsic understanding of their full Power and never know for a person's Power has never caused uncontrolled self-harm before.

Reaching his head, he feels the large gash across the top of his forehead, now nearly entirely healed, looking like just a bad cut, impossible to produce the amount of blood found on his floor this morning. Is it caused because of this brain injury he got at the same time as his Power? That would be his luck. A broken Power literally the moment he got it. He would probably be dead by now if it weren't for this accelerated healing. Hopeful his recovery isn't broken and obtaining super unhealable cancer.

As he focuses on his injury with his new sense to see if he can get a better look at his cut, he notices invisible waves of energy moving out and around the still-recovering gash.

The energy is like heat waves coming off the top of a grill. Unlike the air over the girl, the energy wasn't visible, only felt by his Powered sight. This energy disrupting his inspection is the only reason he could notice its existence. Focusing harder on the rippling energy, possibly the same energy that is healing his brain and preventing any blood clotting in his brain from ending him, seems the only reasonable thing for Olaudah to do on a public bench in the middle of downtown Detroit.

Flooded with the concepts of Power no far from that and closer to the English word of Authority. It wasn't some stupid superhero Power idea, but it encompassed concepts like Strenght, acceleration, vitality, and omnipresence, before toppling over on the bus stop bench and onto the floor. In less than the two hours he had been awake, unconsciousness carried his head towards the cement.

Lucky for Olaudah's head, a hand he didn't notice, his vision caught him before he hit the floor. Catching the unconscious boy is another boy looking similar in age to Olaudah.

"Hey, you ok." The stranger inquires Olaudah. Lifting Olaudah back onto the bench, he gave Olaudah's shoulders a light shake. Olaudah, who was lucky enough to be once again able to dodge brain damage, groggily replies, "Hun, uh yeah."

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Affirming that he is there but not yet entirely able to answer intelligibly. A few moments of rousing himself later, he is capable enough to notice his headache is nearly gone, even when looking directly into the other boy's blue eyes as he stands over him. At the same time, he realizes his head is in the guy's hands as the stranger has one of Olaudah's eyes pried open, checking abnormal dilation with a keychain flashlight, one aiming from the outer edge of his eye inward with staring from this left eye than shifting his grip and testing the right eye.

"quick reaction in both eyes, no concussion. I think you should be ok. Best to rest. Wait, it's that blood. Are you ok?" Running a mile a minute, the man had yet to let Olaudah speak before pushing Olaudah's hood down, grabbing him once more from the sides of his head, stabilizing its motion as he circles over and around, visually inspecting every angle.

In these moments of cherished silence, Olaudah has the time to reboot from what is happening. But all he can do is sit there dumbfounded. Moments of stupefaction pass before he can bear no more, throwing his arms up, pushing the stranger's hand up and away from his head.

"What the fuck are you doing, white boy. Get your hands off me."

Throwing off and insulting the person helping him, he sits there staring back at the kid with an icy stare. An icy stare because his face is like his brain is still catching up with his mouth. The several moments of silence for his brain to catch up to his mouth's actions are deafening. However, with his brain catching up, he looks awkwardly at the kid's face, now needing to suppress the instinctive urge to apologize and explain himself, but before he can get a word out. The white kid beats him to the punch.

"My apologies, you looked hurt didn't know if that's why you passed out, maybe blood loss. I don't know; I didn't want to take any chances. I held your head so you wouldn't shake around and possibly make things worse. You know what they say about not moving people on the ground in case of neck injuries, so better to be safe than sorry, my B." like a machine gun, the man continues,

"Oh yeah, the names Bruce. Nice to meet you, we go to the same. In high school, I am a new kid. I saw you heading out of school while I was at track practice. You had a good running form. You should join the team. We could always use another sprinter for the relay. Oh yeah."

Before Bruce could finish his next breath, Olaudah cut him off with a forceful "Stop! Thank you, Bruce didn't mean to be an asshole, just a bit out of it, but dame slow down a moment, and what was that about you watching me running after school? You stalking me? Also, back the fuck up. I don't want another stalker."

Bruce replies, "Well, damn, sorry fuck why does talking to people have to be such an ordeal. Can you ignore everything I just said? I am not stalking you just saw you running out of school yesterday in the same hoody while I was at practice and recognized that I ain't the best at talking. I just moved here, and I am only good at running, so I thought we could run together at the track."

"Stopping you there before you talk my ear off again, I am too busy for extracurriculars like track, but I ran a lot in my free time; cardio is important when running from Super and gang fights. Now you can go, but slowly, this time; we still have a few until the bus arrives, then I am napping until I get to class. Cleaning up last night's paint debacle took forever that want on me."

"Thank you." The kid then looks at Olaudah like his answer would vindicate his previous words and excuse his actions with almost pleading eyes. Feeling more relaxed without a headache and talking to a genuinely good guy in quite a while outside of work, he felt comfortable enough to let that little voice in his head in charge of his Schadenfreude smile with a demon's cruelty and maliciousness creep up inside, fighting to keep the gin off his face. Olaudah responds with the most monotone voice he can conjure: "No."

Bruce reveals a fake shocked expression before they both burst into guffaws. "Hahahaha! Ok, you got me. That was funny! I want to talk like this more often. You should honestly join the track team. I could use somebody on the team with humor. The other runners act like they're all that and a bag of chips. So competitive! I'm just running because I was hoping to make some friends. Now I know there's no camaraderie," Bruce explains. Before he could continue his explanation any further, Olaudah cut him off.

"Shit, that sucks. But still too busy with work after school to afford to hang out in something like sports. Even if I was good enough to get a large enough payout in the future, they wouldn't pay for my next meal, you know."

"oh wow, sorry, I don't mean to bring up any money issues. It's great that you are helping your parent out with work. My adopted dad is total megalomanic. I don't know what to do about him. He is always on and on about things that seem to mess with me intentionally, but he is there for me. All his plans also work out for the best, in the end, you know what I mean. He might like acting like a bit of an ass but is a great guy."

"I know the type. My dad was similar. He was a judge, so he was harsh but never unfair."

"well, he's not really like that, but close enough. If you don't mind me asking, what happen to your dad?"

"Ah, well, my parents got into an accident when I was young." A dark look quickly flashes over Olaudah's face. "Been in and out of a few homes living with people like a family since then."

Only then does the other kid notice stepping on a potential landmine. The kid immediately starts to back peddle and turn the topic to the good part attempting the salvage the conversation: "Oh God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up. At least your family was nice enough to let you stay, right?"

"Yeah, let's just drop it there. I might have over-shared a bit, just in a good mood; yeah, well, they might not be the best people, but I am here today and would rather focus on that. You are not bad for a cracker; you know that."

"Thank, I guess, and can I say the n-word back to you, like in the friendly other do, or is that too far? I am from a ruler area, and I don't know what I can and can't say here like I see some white kids say it and others not. Is there some unwritten rule?"

"ha ha ha. You dumb ass cracker, you just don't have the street cred for it. They can say it because people know they will pop a cap back in your ass if you confront them. They grew up just as much of the street as us brothers, you feel me."

"No, but I think I understand." hesitantly replies Bruce

"Pfft, that's what I said," claims Olaudah

"Looks like our bus is here, if you don't mind. I had a long night cleaning up my place. I think I am going to close my eyes and take a nap on the bus. Do you mind waking me at our stop?" Warns Olaudah

"Yeah, sounds good. Don't mind me; I will just be reading." As they climb the bus, Bruce opens up his backpack and reaches for a comic book. As Bruce was following Olaudah, he couldn't notice that Olaudah closed his eyes and started practicing his powers by inspecting the missing cut on his head that Bruce should mostly definitely have seen.

Investigating his head with his new vision, he finds that he can no longer see any invisible haze rolling away from his head. The more he zoomed in to where the cut was, the more he could feel something new, almost roiling under his skin. Luckily, It wasn't any physical more than the haze; otherwise, the look of whatever it was pushing up against his skin would make him vomit. Morbidly curious, Olaudah feels now, after nearly just passing out, is the best time for him to use his vision to investigate the inside of his head.

Finding the haze that was once spilling out of his head was more like a puddle than a lake of almost liquid energy on the inside. The haze is so dense and full of meaning that Olaudah's mind quickly flees from investigating himself before he passes out again.

Deciding to himself that he will relax on testing his new Power before passing out and covering himself once more in dried blood on his way to school is the best idea. Deciding to just use his Power to the limits, which he knows he can already handle starts practicing seeing around himself with only his new sense. Olaudah consciously pays attention to what Bruce is reading. It isn't porn, luckily, but it is a superhero comic book. Flash, so we can tell if he is a DC vs a Marvel fan.

Scoffing that the idiocy of enjoying comic books when there are superheroes in real life, and they are nothing like what is actually written, felt stupid. What's worse is that the back cover of the comic mentions that the Second Avenger movie is the largest-grossing box office movie of all time.

Looking away from the depressing book Olaudah starts investigating his new friend. Wondering if the same energy he finds in himself is only in the Powered or if the aliens, like scientists believe, gave it to everyone with it being just dormant.

Tracking nearly 8 billion people worldwide and handing out powers to specific people seems possible but improbable if they already have FTl tech. Scientists find this theory unlikely because studies of the Powered that have unmasked themself public have all had higher than average levels of stubbornness. If this is Survivers Bias is unknown as you can only compare it to those who have proven they have Power which means they have the confidence to use their Powers publicly even if that endangers themselves, their family, and others.

Another common belief is that people receive their powers under high-stress situations, as many civilians claim to awaken their powers when under duress. However, if this were the case, cops or military personnel should be more likely to receive Powers. Statistics show this theory is unlikely. If this is due to the training they receive to handle high-stress situations making them more competent when under high-stress life-and-death moments is unknown, nor will it likely be tested as the consequences of failure are dozens of potential lives for inconclusive data.

Focusing intently on Bruce, Olaudah, couldn't see any of that illusive energy, so honestly, it's looking like the tin hats theory of the aliens watching everyone seems to like the most credible hypothesis, which is pretty creeping of those voyeurs. Who wants to scrutinize someone's life all the time, like in some book, comic strip, or movie. Are they voting on people for them to get Powers, to have people killed in accidents, or due to natural causes? What next? Are the crazies also going to be right about these aliens being giant blue penguins with wooden swords?

It is as Olaudah finishes his diatribe about stupid giant blue penguins and their voyeur ways that his focus looks away from Bruce back towards the comic book that he notices a flash of something unnatural entering his awareness when Bruce turns the page too quickly to make out.

Visually the movement of Bruce's arm is no different than anyone else, but under Olaudah's further inspection definitely feels an underline concept similar to the concepts when investigating himself. Although throughout the whole bus ride, he could only ever notice the concepts flicker too fast to make out while Bruce is moving.

He thought of focusing this power sense inside Bruce as he could already see inside him. Still, it was hard enough not to scrutinize the squishy insides of Bruce without dry heaving, so he will forever continue to push that kind of image out of his mind in the hope that he can one day find out how to actually subconsciously suppress that part of his Power.

Although looking through woman's clothes and super's costumes would be nice, especially in that order. Back to Bruce, is this flicker of Power just because he has yet manifest, or is he already a super and hiding it?

"Hey, Olaudah, this is our stop." With a few light nudges on his shoulder, Bruce follows by calling out to Olaudah while stuffing his comic in his open bag.

"Hhhhhhhhaaa Thanks, man, I needed that. Is that a comic book who carries those nowadays? Why just read it off your phone?" Inquires Olaudah.

"Funny thing, I break my phone all the time. No case or screen protector has ever stopped me. Honestly, I think I should join one of those companies as a product tester, but until then, Mike, my adopted father, won't buy me a new one until I can prove responsible enough not to break it again." says Bruce sheepishly.

"Dude, the fuck, how are you that clumsy? Like, do you break your phone in an Otter box or some real case?" Questions Olaudah.

"They were life-proof cases." meekly responds Bruce.

"Damn, remind me not to lend you my phone even if it is as basically indestructible as Mr. Indomitable, or are you secretly an indestructible super and just lazy to set your damned phone down before a fight. Cause if you are a super, I know the law. If you're a super, you have to tell me. Hahaha but. Seriously that's hilarious. How many phones have you broken? I can tell you are into DC, which doesn't speak well of your IQ but still."

"6 this year," shoots Bruce before rushing to mention likely to prevent any further teasing. "Hey, DC is great. They have some of the best dark comics, which is actually close to realism, unlike Marvel, with all their over-the-top movies and happy heroes never failing, but Quick Silver shouldn't have been shafted like that. I mean, he has super speed. Why couldn't he dodge a bullet like in the X man movies? I mean, there is that scene where they are breaking Magneto out of prison in Young X-Men, and he was running faster enough for everything to be stock still. I hate how super speed is never portrayed accurately; I mean consistently. Like seriously, what if they had Superman had trouble lifting a bed because it was floppy? I recognize he is technically supposed to have a biological force field telekinesis or whatever, so it is not the best example. Still, in all the comics, those with super strength get the benefit of the doubt that whatever they lift won't crumble. It's just upsetting."

"Dude, it's a comic book. No one but children takes those seriously. Just relax, but it looks like I know which side of the fence between DC and Marvel you're on," Olaudah says in a judgy-sarcastic way.

Hefting himself up, Olaudah steps off the bus, following Steve.

"Hey, wait a minute! I like both universes. Just because Flash is my favorite character doesn't mean I hate Marvel. I just hate how they shaft some characters for no reason in their movies," Steve explains.

Shooting the shit about comics and the inaccuracies of shitty writing decisions by the authors, the two of them close in on the school's entrance only for Olaudah's awareness to catch DaQuan approaching the two of them from behind or, more specifically, approaching Olaudah himself.

"Fuck, fuck! Don't look around. Just turn and walk to the left. I am going to hurry into the school's vestibule DaQuan seems to be following us. He probably wants to talk with me. No questions, no time. We had some history, so don't get involved. See you."

With a quick skip and a stutter step, Olaudah quickly began speeding up and slipping through the milling crowd around the front doors, hurrying in for the safety of the inside of the school where at least there are mediocre security cameras and a Pull Blart look-alike with a taser not like it would do shit to a literal statue of a man.

Slipping into the crowd, Olaudah pushes and jostles himself toward the front of the group. Olaudah, just for the heck of it, grabs the rigid door hangle and toggles it on its hinges, although he knew the automatic lock engages itself every time the doors close.

Being stuck in a reality where things never go how you want, he is trapped in the small room while he waits for the bell to ring and lets Olaudah run to class or DaQuan to catch him. Life decides for him when a minute passes; the bell never rings, and a large stone hand lands on his shoulder.

"Hey, dumbass, why did you run? I have got something to say, yeah!" looking up at the clock DaQuan clicks his tongue, which sounds like a brick slamming against a wall. Everyone in the vestibule surreptitiously spectates the confrontation flitch with the near gunshot sound as it continues its echo bouncing around the vaulted ceilings of the small room. "I need to talk to you about your attack, boss's orders. We think someone is trying to set me up. Stop by tonight at my place. I haven't moved. See you then."

Turning back around DaQuan looks around the vestibule, inspecting the faces of the gawking students, some of which still rubbing their ears to fix their hearing. "What you'll fucking look at."

RRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG!!

Pushing thru the door, DaQuan left the school in tandem with the ringing of the school bell as well as the arrival of the school's security guard.

Everyone in the vestibule just stands there as everyone from the outside tries pushing themselves into the school. After a few seconds of crowding and jerking, The doors finally open, and everyone starts heading to either their classes or their regular spots in the halls to hang out with friends.

RRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG!!

Class officially begins with the sound of the bell. Many of the students still not showing up to class. Everything was normal. Besides, there weren't enough seats for all of us today, making Mrs. Gatzke play musical chairs with her fellow teachers getting the two she needs to fill her room.

"Ok, class, let's get right into class today with foreshadowing. We have been reviewing what elements are necessary for a good story. Can anyone tell me what they are?... Anyone?… No need to raise your hands too quickly. I understand it's still pretty early, but I can start drawing sticks if no one wants to answer." With that threat, multiple students shot their hands up to answer. Wanting to answer this easy question now so they didn't have to answer the more complicated questions later. The real lesson began after the usual rigmarole of back and forth and congratulations on correct answers.

"Ok, not that we covered the exposition, inciting action, rising action, climax, falling action, and the resolution; we're going to go over how foreshadowing can help a story build suspense and create a more interesting Volta without the story feeling incongruent or unusual. I would talk about the new Marvel movies, but I suspect not all of you have seen it yet. How many of you remember watching the Hunger Games movie before? If any of you noticed, throughout the movie, it alludes to the two surviving the End Games together without outright telling the audience. Many clues hint at a happy ending and how the other battles ended. As the watchers, this made you more and more invested in the story's outcome since you got a lot of conflicting information. You also want to know how the main character solves the problem."

As the teacher drones how to use and apply foreshadowing to her not-so-interested students, Olaudah uses this moment to rest and think about the future. The next thing he needed to do was write down his plans. Otherwise, he just knew he would continue to worry about what came next. Divide and conquer--that would be his strategy for tackling issues. It was a skill he learned while working as a henchman.

With his perfect perception, Olaudah quickly found a blank sheet of printer paper, well not completely empty as the other side had math homework from a unit or two ago crumpled down in the bottom of his bag as well a chewed-up black pen still with ink in the bottom of his front most pocket. He began to write out his goals and plans.

Goals

1. Hid vision

2. Test it

3. Learn to maximin its positives

Plans: short term

1. After completing my immediate goals make more concrete goals.

2. See if I still have a job.

3. Research powers Burton make it look like it is just for his history teacher's lesson plan.

Plan: long term

1. Find sister

2. Master power and its possible uses

3. Find a job where his career can help him but not go against any laws lobbied by unions to prevent supers from taking every job.

Pulling out his name from the cup of colorful popsicle sticks, Mrs. Gatzke

"Olaudah, please give your perspective on whether Chekhov's gun is foreshadowing."

Looking up, confusion flashing across his face, Olaudah quickly tries to mentally reflect on what was asked. "Olaudah. Is there something you would like to share with the class?"

"No, Chekhov's gun is the literary tool used to foreshadow a future conflict, like introducing a shotgun in the second chapter and being used later." Reading aloud near-verbatim the notes of the student's two desks to the left of him.

"That's good. I would like more of your perspective, and Olaudah, I would appreciate it if you paid more attention; wait, is that blood? Are you ok?"

"Oohh, not, it's not blood. Don't worry. There was a mess made when repainting my place last night, and by the time everything was cleaned up, the paint was too dried on to get off before school. Let me tell you, active pets running around while you are on a step later with a can filled with paint is not a good idea. Exciallty if it gets spoken by loud noises and will run around everywhere, tracking paint everywhere."

"Wow, that sounds like quite the night. I am apposite for the difficulties, but this is a great short story you could write about in tonight's homework. Speaking of homework, I would like you all to turn in your homework in the bin near the front door by the end of class. Now I want everyone to listen because this is a great time to segway into tonight's homework. I want you all to write a one-page short story where you foreshadow an event that will happen Maybe. Olaudah could include the dog being active and triggered by loud noises and the paint can on the latter being unstable. If anyone has any questions, I am all ears."